Finding the Sun
by BlueBrainProductions
Summary: Oneshot. France once believed that he was truly happy. He was one of the most powerful empires with unimaginable wealth and a heart encased in ice. It was not until he found the sun, and it began to melt the ice, did he realize that true happiness does not come from gaining lands or gold. He finds it comes from those you love most. Big Brother!France and Colony!Canada


Got the urge to write today and lo and behold my first France oneshot is born. Can't believe I have not written one yet... And I really need to write more USUK.

Disclaimer: _Hetalia: Axis Powers_ to Hidekaz Himaruya & _Summer Sun_ to Robert Louis Stevenson

So please enjoy!

* * *

_Great is the sun, and wide he goes_

_Through empty heaven with repose;_

_And in the blue and glowing days_

_More thick than rain he showers his rays._

France could not have asked for a better day to relax. His country was in a time of peace, England was grumbling in his own home across the channel, there were no governmental affairs to attend to and the sun was even shining brightly. It had rained and stormed for days, forcing everyone to remain indoors. France loved the month of May, but he detested the rain that came with it. Those days were dark; the black clouds rolling in to block out the sun like some kind of evil. To him it was an unfortunate reminder of the type of nation he had become over the years.

When the race to the New World began some years before, France was at the head of the group with Spain and England. Together they ran like rabid dogs to the untouched lands and grabbed as much as they could. The earth was fertile with nutrients to grow better crops like cotton and tobacco. Even the prospect of gold was music to the ears of the nations. Spain found his luck in the southern reaches, but he quickly became immersed in constant wars with the natives. The northern portion of the New World was left to be ravaged by mostly England and France.

All nations knew that each land had an embodiment. It had been that way for a millennia. No one knew where they came from as they just appeared suddenly in the form of a child. The child was as innocent as a newborn babe and the older nations could lay claim to the new lands easily. They would lie and bribe their way into becoming friends with the child. It was only when the child accepted the token of friendship did he or she become a colony. And so a new race ensued between England and France. Whoever found the child first would have the New World in the palm of his hand.

_Though closer still the blinds we pull_

_To keep the shady parlour cool, _

_Yet he will find a chink or two_

_To slip his golden fingers through._

Finland found the child first and showed him to the strong empires. The boy had wheat blond hair, eyes as blue as the sky above and a smile like the summer sun. The worries of life seemed to blow away with the wind when the boy would cast a bright grin at the strangers. France would never deny that he felt the warm and comforting sensation that came from that smile, but it did little to sway his intentions. So they bribed the child, England and France did, with delicious food from their homes. It was the only way they could even catch the child's attention.

In the end, France lost his chance at gaining a new colony. The child chose to stay with England when the brute pulled the tear card. Oh how the innocent could be swayed. Instead of staying to listen to the boastings of the English pig, France journeyed even farther to the North. This land was different he realized; everything had a soft touch to it. The breeze caressed his cheek gently and barely rustled the leaves in the trees. Even the sun seemed to have a softer glow. He walked for miles through green forests, following a calm stream. He felt in his heart that this land was not a part of England's new colony. It meant that another child was roaming these forests. His chance for redemption had come up and he would take it. This land would become his no matter what.

For months he searched for the child, but came up with nothing. He could never find any sign that prompted him in the right direction. One day, near the end of May, he finally gave up. Maybe this land was a part of America, as England had taken to calling the boy. It seemed impossible though because America was a boy with boundless and wild energy. This land was calm, but there was still an edge of energy to it. Rain was gently falling through the branches above and had been doing so for days. France was exhausted and frustrated when he sat down on a fallen log to rest. He rubbed his eyes tiredly. What was he to do now? Go home with no new land or fight England for America? He honestly did not know.

Something nudged against his leather boot. Opening his eyes, he looked down and found a shiny red apple sitting between his feet. His gaze then turned upward at the trees, but none of them harbored the tasty fruit. A soft giggle reached his ears and he turned toward where the sound came from. What he saw made him freeze.

_The dusty attic spider-clad_

_He, through the keyhole, maketh glad;_

_And through the broken edge of tiles_

_Into the laddered hay-loft smiles._

There, hiding behind the trunk of a tree, was a child. He looked to be the twin of America, but his hair was longer and a brighter blonde. His eyes were almost violet in color. They were wide with curiosity and innocence. France knew his feeling had been correct. He had finally found what he was searching for.

When the boy realized the stranger had seen him, he quickly stepped behind the tree so he could not be seen, but the older nation knew he was still there. France picked up the apple with one hand and pulled a small dagger from his belt with the other. He called out to the boy, thanking him for the treat and was not surprised when he received no answer. He used the knife to cut the apple into small pieces. While he ate, the nation pretended to not pay any attention to the other. Soon enough the boy peered around the trunk again. France offered him a piece of the apple. Surprisingly, the child came around the tree and stepped toward him.

France's heart was pounding in his chest. He never thought it would be this easy. With America, he and England had to chase him around for days before they could catch him. The rain was still coming down and it had drenched the boy, making him look like a drowned rat. France knew he looked no better. In fact, his appearance was probably worse from all of the traveling. He did not care though.

The child stopped just out of reach of the nation. He stared at France for a moment then reached out to take the piece of apple from his hand. France smiled gently at the boy and a shy one was returned. Something moved in the older nation's heart right then. He did not understand what it was or what it meant, but it honestly felt nice. It was then he realized the rain had stopped and the sun was shining.

_Meantime his golden face around_

_He bares to all the garden ground,_

_And sheds a warm and glittering look_

_Among the ivy's inmost nook._

France looked up from his book when he heard his name being called. His colony, Canada was his name, waved for his older brother to come to him. There was a bright smile on his face. Smiling in return, France set his book aside and stepped off of the patio into his garden. This garden was one of his most prized possessions in the New World. It may have looked wonderful on any given day, but it looked absolutely beautiful when Canada was near. The boy seemed to bring the sun's softer rays with him everywhere.

It was on that day in the forest that France was able to befriend Canada. He took the child out of the wild forests and showed him the small towns that had been built during the months of his search. Even if France had never found Canada, it would not have stopped the immigrants from moving to the New World. Canada was delighted at the idea of becoming a colony. He explained in a soft voice that he had been alone for many years. His brother, America, was always off on his own adventures. France, knowing he could use this to his advantage, assured the boy many times that he would never be alone again. Canada agreed to become his colony, his brother, the very next second.

So time went on. France lived in his new colony for as long as possible before affairs in his country called him back. At first, Canada was surprised and very hurt when he realized his older brother would be gone for a few months at a time. He begged France to stay, but the elder nation would not hear it. His heart was too cold to really care for what the colony felt at the time. He could only care for what riches were filling the pockets of his empire. The tears that the child shed went unnoticed. However, over the years the ice around his heart began to melt. It surprised him greatly to feel so much guilt and pain whenever he saw the young Canada cry or how his heart fluttered joyfully when he saw that smile and heard his happy giggles.

It took him nearly twenty years to realize he truly cared for Canada.

Now they hardly ever spend any time apart. During the colder months, they sail to France's home and return to the New World during the spring and summer. Canada had started growing, now about the size of a six year old human child. By this time, England had heard of the new French colony and was just starting to make his move to take it over. France made a promise that he would never let that happen. He had only just found his happiness and to have it taken away from him would devastate not only his empire, but also his soul. He was sure that his heart would freeze again.

He had come to realize that Canada was his sun. The boy's soft rays had slowly melted the ice around his heart until nothing was left. There was hardly a day when the elder nation was depressed or angry because Canada was always there to send away the dark storm clouds. Whether consciously or not, he brought his older brother a type of happiness that was beyond unique. France doubted that even England shared this with America. That thought both pleased and upset him.

Those depressing thoughts of England were put to the back of his mind when France finally came up next to his colony. Canada looked over his shoulder, a bright smile gracing his features, and pointed at the rose bush in front of him. In it was the nest of a mother bird and her eggs. She had been scared off some time before and three tan colored eggs could be seen. France could not help the smile that crept onto his face nor the peaceful and light feeling in his chest when Canada began explaining what type of bird laid the eggs and why it chose the rose bush as its home. He sat on the grass with a content sigh and listened to every word.

Not a single worry entered the garden that day. The sun had chased away the storm clouds and the future had never looked so bright.

_Above the hills, along the blue,_

_Round the bright air with footing true,_

_To please the child, to paint the rose,_

_The gardener of the World, he goes._


End file.
